A Fledgling's Innocence
by BehindTheMasqueradeMask
Summary: "It was the moment that every angel had experienced, that one time you made the choice to obey or rebel. It was her choice alone." The angels were casted out of Heaven. Every single one. Even the fledglings who had barely gained the ability to fly were stripped of their new wings. Castiel's punishment is to destroy a fledgling's innocence, but can he do it? Protective!Castiel
1. Fear Bonds Us

**_I'm uploading this because I was just having an idea moment and this kept bugging me. Although it will be rather dark and dismal in the first few chapters, it will have humour later on and protective!Cas._**

**_anyway, hope you enjoy and please review if you would see this continued._**

**_With that done, on with the chapter..._**

* * *

><p><em>It happened so fast.<em>

_Falling._

_Just an endless falling as a molten-gold engulfed her._

_She had been with her young peers milliseconds before, with them as they learned and trained and listened as rumours of Metatron and Castiel whispered through Heaven._

_And now she was falling._

_And she was scared._

_Never in her young hundred years had she ever felt the emotion before, and now it engulfed her, consumed her as her black charcoal wings sprouted into flames and sizzled into dust._

_Pain._

_Nothing but pain._

_She would give anything for the pain to stop._

_Anything at all._

* * *

><p>Lexi Kyle slammed the door of the apartment shut, hands fumbling with the chain as her heart pounded like a humming bird's wings. Black leather jacket swamped her lanky undernourished body, grey hood falling over her warm honey eyes so she would have to swat it away angrily. Close fitting black jeans that allowed her to sprint speedily, with black boots with flaps flailing as she ran into the kitchen, elbows resting on the dirty forest green kitchen counter.<p>

She dove her black-gloved (pinkish fingers free from the fabric) hands into the pockets of the leather jacket, pulling out a brown wallet she had _borrowed_ off a wealthy-looking suit-wearing man. A smirk pulled at her lips as ten dollars worth of green notes appeared in her hand, like a magic trick as she searched for more money-making objects.

She pulled out a few credit cards, ominous numbers on scraps of paper, and a small square picture of a happy smiling family. A wave of jealously washed over the early teen, the man, woman and young girl smiled as if they all loved each other more than anything else in the world.

A sorrow dimmed the warm honey glow, placing the square picture back in the wallet securely as she pocketed the wallet again, leaving the money and credit cards on the counter.

Lexi was about to open the fridge and try to mix a somewhat decent concoction of food when a rattling clinked the chain if the front door. Lexi stood paralysed, grasping the bitterly cold fridge handle as her legs turned to jelly.

The rattling intensified until eventually the door flew open with a boom, but not as much of a boom as the slurred voice that shook Lexi down to her bruised bones.

"Lexi!"

She gasped in fear, quickly sprinting from her spot in the kitchen to the safe haven of her room. She didn't stop running; she learnt the hard way to never stop running. She could feel his intoxicated presence behind her, stumbling heavy footsteps following her like a bad smell, but the gag-worthy odour of alcohol was a perfect description of a bad smell.

She clambered inside the door and hastily turned around the slam it shut, her hand fumbling for the old lock. She wasn't quick enough. The door slamming into her with such impact that she was thrown backwards onto her back, screaming in shock and agony as the monster roughly gripped her mousy brown hair and hauled her up, eyes stained with searing tears.

"Don't you _ever_ run from me!" It growled against her ear, whimpers escaping her throat as she firmly squeezed her eyes shut as not to look on the face of the monster. The grip on her short curled hair became more agonising by the second, sharp nails digging into her scalp.

"_I'm sorry, Daddy_." She whispered through her sobs, the pungent smell of his alcoholic breath wafted over her spotted face, mild acne beginning her teenage years, honey eyes dulled and fearful as her head was slammed into the vomit stained brown carpet. She swallowed down the scream, tears forever falling down her rough face as his raspy breathing pounded against her ears.

"I'm sorry to have a daughter like you." He slurred, the girl preparing for the harsh beating that was inevitable. But not one flash of pain befell her body, for the first time. The grip on her hair pulled away, Lexi immediately scrambling up against her bed, chest heaving as she watched with confusion as the monster yelled growls, dirt-ridden hands clasping over his ears.

"Daddy?"

The monster continued to growl, altering into a full blood-curdling scream as blood began spilling from his ears, staining his already sinful hands crimson, dripping down his baggy clothes and finally to pool on the floor around his feet. Lexi sprang to her feet, no matter what he did he was still her father, and so ran to him as his legs gave way and he fell with a thud.

It suddenly became a horrible wrestling match as she fell on top of him, trying to unravel the hands away from his squirting ears. It was futile, she couldn't yank the hands away, but his blood caked her hands within seconds as she repeatedly called _Daddy_ as if it would miraculously stop the pain.

It stopped eventually. Only when his weak heartbeat stopped.

A numbness dowsed Lexi, clothes and flesh covered in red as her frantic devastated eyes snapped over her father's lifeless corpse, denial as she began shaking him vigorously, fresh despairing tears slipping from her eyes.

"Wake up. Wake up, wake up, wake up!" She wailed, before falling back onto her hands and knees with choking sniffles. Even with all the crying, silence filled the apartment. A numb, dead silence that made Lexi wish her monstrous father was still alive, even the beating, at least she wasn't alone, at least she wasn't homeless. She didn't want to be alone. Loneliness scared her more than her Demonic Daddy.

She wanted to call for help, but her voice was ripped and she knew deep down that no one would come. It had always been her and her father, for as long as she could remember, and now she knew that all she had was his dead body.

That chilled her past her bruised, purple-pale skin. Past her aching growing bones. Right down to her young thieving soul.

She was so scared.

A faint ringing filled her head, it grew louder, and louder until she was forced to copy her father's actions only minutes before. Hands rushing to her ears as her eyelids locked shut, petrified of receiving the same death as her father lying before her.

"_Please, no_." She whispered, but the ringing drowned out her own voice. That was, until a voice residing in the ringing replied with a just as fearful tone that seemed so real in her mind, and yet seemed to have no real sound nor shape.

_I'm scared too_


	2. We Walk Alone

**I'm going to upload this now as it's done, hope you enjoy.**

**I will say this is an AU that starts at the end of season 8, mainly because I haven't been able to watch Season 9 or 10 and so don't feel comfortable trying to write about it if I haven't watched it properly.**

**With that done, on with the chapter...**

* * *

><p>A burning guilt resided in the recesses of his stomach as he watched his brethren fall ungraciously from Heaven. The once bleak grey night stood still in history as blazing shapes rapidly targeted the ground. The guilt worsened as the impacts boomed and cracked the world, the once majestic wings that allowed them to take flight burnt into sickening dust that settled in the atmosphere.<p>

Forever scarred by his doing.

For his naivety.

For his _failure_.

His hair and trademark trench coat wafted in the bitter breeze, and for the first time he felt the coldness rush through him. If it were under different circumstances, he would have been privileged to feel that breeze, but now it only worsened his guilt.

A single pained tear tumbled down his solemn yet broken face. He did not even have the urge to wipe it away, for the tear resembled the last of his angelic essence slipping away, beginning his humanity like that when a baby first leaves it's mother, the window-shattering cry.

That tear was his cry.

With the guilt still churning his stomach into tightened knots that threatened to burst his internal organs. He turned. Away from his falling family and trudged depressively through the thicket of trees. Even though his mind was empty, it still felt clustered, clustered with a gigantic nothingness.

He did not even know where he was walking. He just walked. Head bowed low as his face had frozen in that shattered glaze. The trees passed by, so did the animals, and the headlights of cars, and the dirt roads.

He just...walked.

What was it Famine had told Dean all those years ago?

_"__That's one deep, dark...nothing you got there, Dean...You can smirk and joke and lie to your brother, lie to yourself, but not to me! I can see inside you, Dean! I can see how broken you are, how defeated; you can't win and you know it, but you just keep fighting, just keep going through the motions. You're not hungry, Dean, because inside, you're already dead."_

Though how he could remember those exact words was unbeknownst to him, they seemed true to himself in that moment. He was human. He felt guilt. He felt blame. But he did not feel that spark he saw in every human he had ever met, that _warmth_ they all carried.

Even as he walked, all he felt was aches in his feet. The aches were surreal. It would have been exciting if not for the numbness that needled his body. It was not even his, stolen, stolen from Jimmy Novak, a man with a family. It seemed like karma now.

The truth was he had _wanted_ that alive feeling humanity had. And now that he had it, now Metatron had stolen his grace to make his family fall...he did not feel alive at all.

"C-Castiel?"

He stopped abruptly at the timid voice, confusion finally unfreezing his brooding features. He had not noticed the lamppost above him flickering, the sweetened white yet another cruel reminder of what he had done. He turned around slowly, head falling slightly to meet the height of a young teenage girl wrapped in black clothing.

His sky blue eyes transfixed on the warm honey ones that looked up at him.

His brow creased, unable to name what was in front of him. She stood stiffly, arms and legs so straight it was as if only a small bend would snap the bone. She looked _uncomfortable_. And yet the honey irises never looked away from him, never blinked as they began to water. It was as if the girl did not know how to _control_ her body, trying to understand without instructions.

It could only ever be one thing.

His eyes swirled with even more painful guilt, hoping he would not have to face what he had done so soon, and apprehension of which angel it was made him want to flee.

He did not want to be reminded of Samandriel.

Or Uriel.

Or Balthazar.

Or Anna.

Or any of his brothers and sisters he had directly or indirectly slaughtered.

But he knew that that was his punishment. That this timid angel before him would make the pain even more torturous. He would go as far to say that this was God punishing him for trying to overthrow him, the God he once was that had turned him into an abomination.

He had been cursed with this punishment for a long time, and now it was finally thrust upon him when he had _nothing_.

"Yes," he said gruffly, though it seemed to hold more emotion than it had done when he was an angel. "Who are you?"

The girl's spotted features scrunched and softened, thin lips quivering as her small nose twitched. They were trying to learn, trying to feel, trying to ignore the screaming of the human they were possessing. They were not vessels. They were _people_. Souls. And Dean had been right to say that they were truly no different from demons. He had tried to entertain that the man had been wrong for so long, through everything, but with Metatron's betrayal...he could honestly not deny it anymore.

Eventually the girl took a crooked step forward, watered eyes finally having a replenishing blink as she learned how to do it.

"Bethel"

His features radically changed from depression to despair, mouth hanging open pathetically as more tears seemed to well in his eyes. She was confused, unable to read his change, she could not understand the ache that stabbed sadistically in his low beating heart.

He took a step back; out of the white light and into the prowling darkness as his tears fell heavily down his face. He could not have perceived, he did not think of the young ones that had been casted out would survive the fall. Yet here one was, before him, never before really seeing Earth let alone stepping on it with a human body.

If innocence had a form...it would be the fledgling in front of him.

An urge rushed through him, one he could not describe yet it controlled him like a puppet, that being something he would see Dean saying. He stepped forward again, embracing the young angel who wore a bewildered expression as she stood straight against his chest, not aware of what an embrace was.

It was a promise.

Protection.

His chin rested on her mousy curls as he squeezed his eyes shut, gasping a choke as there was no warmth in the embrace. He wanted to give her that, that warmth humans had that instinctively told their siblings, offspring or anyone. It said _everything would be okay_, or _I'll keep you safe_, or _you do not have to be scared_. But he could not, and she could not understand.

They may have fallen. He may be human. But they were not _human_. They could never truly be _human_.

But he could still voice that promise as a brother.

"It will be fine. I will protect you. You do not need to be scared anymore." He spoke softly against her head, unable to see the expression although he knew it was likely blank.

Robotic.

"Why?"

Was all Bethel could say in response. The drone laced with the unknowing innocence that tore him apart.

"Why was I falling? Why did I have to find someone special? Why does Lexi scream so?" She asked, and he could hear the mystification even if the voice was the same lifeless drone.

He did not want this.

Did not want to explain.

Did not want to be the one to take the innocence away.

That was his punishment, to destroy a fledgling's innocence and transform them into a loyal warrior just like his elder brothers had done to him many thousands of years before. But the ache distracted him, made it harder to say the words that his brothers had told him. It took so much to make those meaningless words fall off of his lips, it made what humans called _bile_ rise in his throat. Or could have simply been more guilt.

"Because...God has a plan for you. Because he gave you life. Because he made you perfect. Because you were made to walk with your brothers and sisters into battle. Because you owe God your existence. Because you must be his warrior."

There was nothing in those words, just a speech told to him that he was programmed to pass on. Even if he was human, he still felt that part of him would always have that system burned into him. He had wanted to question it, that was what had made him a _spanner in the works_. When others obeyed, he questioned, he _rebelled_.

Was that God's design? Or was it Free Will? Was he always destined to be different from his brethren?

He spoke the same unanswerable questions as the fledgling in his embrace. Even now, he could feel the clogs turning as the speech drilled into her head, permanently marked there for when she too would pass it on to the next generation of angels. He did not want to feed her those old lies, but he had thrown out the book so many times, he could not allow the fledging to mirror himself.

"But...why?"

A long pause silenced the air.

"I don't know."

He pulled her closer, attempting to muffle out the slowly changing world that revolved around them. Just for that moment, that one second under that whitened haze...it was Bethel's moment. It was the moment that every angel had experienced, that one time you made the choice to obey or rebel.

It was her choice alone.

"_I am scared_." She whispered into his chest, and he was disgusted in himself that he had felt relief when the words had fallen from her lips. He attempted to shush her as he had seen human mothers do to their children, gently tilting side to side as he allowed the wind to gush out of his pursed cracked lips.

It was a start though.

It was not obedience, and it did lean towards rebellion. It was a declaration of not wanting to be what she was programmed to be, and yet was terrified to voice it in case she was forced to fall like Lucifer had, the first fallen angel that was a horror story told to fledglings to keep them in line or when the choice came they immediately chose obedience and loyalty.

But she did not need to fear falling. She had just fallen. And it had scared her. Pained her. But she had survived all of that. She did not have that fear to fester in the back of her mind, the one fear that he himself had dreaded before the Winchesters had shown him that it was not needed.

The truth was he had been a fledgling until he had plucked Dean out of Hell.

"There's no need to be scared. You do not need to be scared by them. Humanity is captivating and beautiful. You will see." He told her, voice cracking with new profound life as he began thinking of all the wondrous things he could show her: the shops, the food, the people, the things he still had yet to understand, the importance that was pie and finally the Winchesters.

He needed to show her the Winchesters.

"I'm here." He consoled, though he was unsure as to whom he was actually trying to persuade.

Bethel...or himself.

* * *

><p>"The angels...they're fallin'." Dean breathed, clutching Sam close to him as their backs pressed into the Impala, heads watching the falling masses with a sickening resemblance of comets. The breeze gushed through the air, though whether it was a natural occurrence or caused by the falling angels wasn't certain, either way it sent a worse chill through the Winchester brothers.<p>

"What do we do?" Sam gasped, trying to regain his senses though the pain that had began in his swollen arm travelled through his body so rapidly it caused an electric shock. Which was what had caused him to lose control of his legs, dependent on his older brother to help him reach the comfort of the car that had been with them through their lives up until this point.

Dean couldn't tear his eyes away from the angels, barely registering Sam's question until he felt a large hand grip his jacket. He snapped his head to his brother, face aged with worry, but his features clouded with speechlessness.

"I don't know. I really don't know, Sammy." He replied, shaking his head before it returned to the angels. The older Winchester sighed, feeling a tug as the words that had been said in the church echoed through his head, ones that he knew he needed to push aside for a later date, or indefinitely if it were possible.

"What I do know, is that we need to get you to a doctor." He finally spoke, using his firm tone although Sam was bound to argue. He tilted his head with a sigh, but not one protest left his cut lip as he allowed his brother to lift his arm up and help him stand. With the one arm glued to the Impala and the other gripped tightly by Dean, they managed to stubble around the bonnet to the passenger door, Dean having to manuvere artfully so he was able to open the door and plop Sam in the seat, a pained gasp that stopped short.

The younger Winchester gripped his no longer pulsating arm as if it would cut off the rest of the pains that shocked his body. It wouldn't work. But it was something.

"Stay there, we can't leave the douchebag." Dean explained, silently irritated that he could not just rumble the engine and leave the snarky King of Hell locked up in the church. He wanted to. But there was still need of Crowley no matter how much he did not want to hear the comments that would come from the backseat.

A hand gently tapped Sam's face, trying to keep him awake or trying to reassure him, either way it was freezing against his boiling skin. Sam disorientatingly looked up to his brother's multiple heads. He tried to focus, focus on the loving bright green eyes, ones that once held disappointment when he chose Ruby of him. Once held mischief when he used to prank on him. Once held that charisma and confidence that Sam envied.

Now they were duller, aged, far worse than when he had climbed out of Hell, survived Purgatory.

He looked...just...done.

Dean's feet trudged away, Sam unaware that the searing heat of his palm had left his cheek. Sam sat alone as he again watched the angels falling, seeming to light up every inch of the grey sky.

It was bad.

Lucifer apocalypse bad.

The worst part was that Sam's head was like a concoction of fire, knives and acid. He groaned, leaning back against the leather headrest as he squeezed his bare arm, the fine hairs like little needles. He wished his head would stop spinning, stop making him want to vomit when there was nothing to throw up.

"Quit man-handling me, Squirrel."

The more recognisable snark of Crowley was actually rather pleasant...in a messed up way. The whole cure must have begun to wear off, for he continued to whine as Dean shoved him in the backseat, chains and everything as Sam caught a mocking smirk in the rear view mirror.

"Not lookin' your best, Moosie." He commented, but he was also concerned about the falling angels, it was clear on his bearded bloody face, even the King of Hell couldn't hide his anxiousness. Sam just sighed exhaustingly and rested his head against the cold window. The steam of his breath clouding the falling blazes above.

"Sammy, you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah I'm good." Sam gasped, a long pause meant Dean had looked over him in worry before clinking the keys and allowing the engine to purr. As they pulled off, Sam tried desperately to stay awake, but eventually he slipped into a horrific sleep where he was haunted by all the failures he had made over the years.

All the while, he could hear Crowley's almost human confessions back in the church run through his head.


End file.
